Centilingued
by ThereisnoSyntaxhere
Summary: Inspired by Sweetslyvia's A through Z thingy. A bunch of snapshots of the world of Lore as mandated by the 100 theme challenge. The snapshots are out of order and are not linear unless otherwise noted. Updates sporadically.
1. 59: Escape

He ran through the forest as if his life depended on it. And, in a way, it did. Artix wasn't the fastest kid in the village, nor the tallest. Even as long as he'd been running he couldn't be very far from the village.

From his home. From...The monsters.

The crackle of the leaves underneath his feet sounded deafening as he ran. With his heart pounding in his chest and his arms thumping across nearly every sapling he came near as he ran, it seemed like everthing in the world could hear him. He knew they could. They were just waiting for the right moment to attack.

His thighs were on fire but he couldn't stop running. He wasn't far enough away. Not yet—he could still smell that rot and that smoke. There wasn't any time to waste resting, it was almost dawn. He had to keep going.

He had to survive. For them. For everyone he'd had to—

Atrix blinked back the tears. No. He couldn't cry now. It was hard enough to see already in the Doomwood twilight, he couldn't afford to let the tears impede his vision even further.

The wolves' howls grew fainter as he ran, but he didn't notice. He couldn't hear it. He had to focus. He had to keep running.

He had to survive. And he would. For them. For all of them.


	2. 11: Memory

That smile was one of the only things he had left to remember her by. It'd been so long since he'd seen her last.

As the years went by he found himself forgetting more and more. Her smell. Her voice. The color of her eyes. Almost everthing lost to the sands of time.

His father had gotten the same treatment. The man had been a strong one, that he could remember, but his father had vanished from his memory in almost the same way his mother did.

The locket that hero had retrieved had helped some, but he could only barely tell that the people within it were related to him at all. They were too far gone from his memory, too detatched.

He had told the hero he'd given up on looking for it. In reality he'd forgotten that it even existed until they showed it to him.

In fact, he could never really be sure when exactly it was that he became aware of this loss. How old was he then? Six? Seven? No, he was younger, he hadn't met Demento yet.

And now his brother was gone too. Everyday, it seemed his family was shrinking. This time he didn't have the luxury of being too young to understand such a loss.

Would he forget Demento like he had forgotten his parents?

No. He wouldn't let another of his family be reduced to a smile.

Galanoth grabbed the parchment on his desk and began to write a letter. Perhaps the people of Falconreach would be willing to put up another statue.


	3. 1: Introduction

Well, this place was certainly larger than he had expected.

He checked the brochure he'd been given a few months ago at Krovesport. He couldn't read the script well enough then, so he'd had to ask one of the locals to tell him what it said. In the time since then he'd gotten more familiar with Human English, and could read it easliy on his own.

"Edelia University, School of Soulweaving. Grand Opening on October 24 th, 1717. Enroll to-day and be the first to learn such a _fantastic_ new science. Spaces Limited, Sign Up now! All races welcome!"

Breifly he glanced up from the bochure to the campus before him. The space certainly didn't look limited; just one of those great sprawling dormatories could hold several thousand people. But still, he was here, might as well see the rest of the place.

Wrought-iron fences, buildings made of some bastardized mix of brick and mortar and feildstones, and the whole pavillion was still getting the tiles laid down.

"Could be worse." He mumbled. "May as well get situated."

* * *

All races welcome _my ASS!_

These students—Argh! God...The rest of the human race had better not be like this. The staff had better not be like this or he was getting his money back and leaving, tenacity and the like be damned.

He was watching his supposed classmates scramble about in the pavillion from his perch on the dorm roof. Still looking for him. Not that they'll ever find him. Why would you look on the ground for someone who has wings?

"Honestly, it's like they've never seen a Succubus before." He said.

"They probably haven't. _I_ certainly haven't."

He whipped his head around to find the source of the new voice.

A woman. She was almost entirely white from her head down to her feet, hair, dress, and all. Wait—not toes. No nose. On a second glance she looked whispy, almost ethereal. Giant yellow eyes stared back at him.

"And you are?" he asked.

"I am an Elemental Spirit. I and my fellows are the reason this school was built: a Soulweaver needs the aid of a Spirit to perform their magic. I am the Spirit of Chastity, if that answers your question."

That wasn't in the brochure. Nowhere on that damnable sheet of paper did it say he would need a partner. Still, a quick glance at the student body below told him that it would probably not be a good idea if he was alone for long.

Now then. "How would that sort of thing work? What does the Spirit do in this partnership?"

She smiled and floated a little closer to him. The Spirit held out her hand to demonstrate the process of thread-making.

"See, the professors came up with the name Soul_weaving_ because that's basically what it is—weaving spectral thread to serve a variety of different magical functions. We Spirits can make this thread easily since we're made of it, but we can't really use it. That's where the Soulweaver comes in." She explained, drawing thread from her hands as she did so. "The professors made this tool they call a Spirit loom to help manipulate the thread. It's surprisingly volatile, so you probably should stop trying to touch it."

He put his hand down in shame. It was so shiny and pretty...

He cleared his throat. "That's pretty interesting stuff Miss Chastity. Mind explaining it to me more?" He asked.

"Ha! At the rate I'm going I may as well make you my partner. You seem like a pretty nice guy. What's your name?"

"Aspar Kheyes. I'd be honored to have you as my partner Miss Chastity."

* * *

**Note: In order to curb the storm of baaaaw, that I'm expecting, please note that this is my story and I am free to mangle these characters however I see fit. If anything I should be yelling at you for assuming that all the spirits were human—that's a bit racist, don't'cha think?**


	4. 36: Precious Treasures

Trey had seen countless hordes of gold and jewels in his lifetime. Countless piles of valuables, hidden away in some chamber in some old pyramid or temple.

It didn't really matter how much he had seen. He always got that same rush every time. That same euphoria, that overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

He'd sold most of the treasures he'd found over his life. Magnificent as these objects were, there weren't all that many that he felt the need to keep. In every horde there was bound to be a few scrolls or swords among the jewelry and tapestries that would be worth more in the hands of some collector than rotting away in his own home.

He had gotten into treasure hunting solely for the fame to begin with. Selling what he found only served to increase his fame, as it meant that those collectors would tell their collector buddies about him, and the fabulous wares that he had to offer. It was a win-win.

Of course, over the years he'd found a few treasures that he could never part with. The hunk of silver jadeite sitting in his study was the first treasure he ever found—it held too many memories to sell, regardless of how much money it would net him. The sky-iron dagger that had saved his life years ago that he still carried with him. The nearly solid diamond ring he had found in the Ruins of Sil, marred only by the sapphires studded along it's rim became his wife's engagement ring.

And now, happily wriggling in his arms, was Trey's most beloved treasure: his daughter Valencia.


	5. 87: Food

Her quarry was lying there asleep. Completely unaware of her prescence. She had only to pounce, and he would be hers. Slowly, she crept towards the prostrate figure, and—

"Good morning!"

"Aaah!"

Chastity had to stifle a giggle with her hands as she watched her partner flail about in bed before falling to the ground with a dulled thud. She could even hear the purple man angrily grumbling what were probably curses in his native tongue. This was just _too funny_.

The Succubus's angry face popped up above the bed shortly after.

"Don't do that! Seriously, I almost had a heart attack!" He yelled.

She giggled and floated over to help him up.

"Sorry, but it's just kinda funny waking you up like that." She laughed.

Aspar continued to glare daggers at her, clearly unamused. He rolled his eyes and reached for his glasses (he couldn't see without his glasses). His face froze when he saw the bedstand clock.

"It's only three in the morning!" He shouted.

"So? You said you were an Army guy right? Getting up early should be normal for you."

Once again he glared. "I was in the Navy, not the Army, and we never got up earlier than _five_."

Oh dear. There was that quiet angry tone, she'd gone too far. Chastity quickly uttered her apologies and left the grumpy Succubus to his own devices.

* * *

She found him again in the kitchen a few hours later, whistling a quick staccato melody and presumably in a better mood. From the smell currently permeating the kitchen, he was making something with a lot of cayenne and chili powder.

She floated over to get a better look at the mess on the stove. Chastity cringed at the sight of it: whatever it was, there was so much spice in it that what looked like eggs was almost a bright pink.

"That's _stztataal_. Spiced cheese porridge. Traditionally it's made before celebrations, but I like to make it every once in a while." The purple man explained.

"Siz-zi-taht-all? How do you even spell that sort of thing, let alone say it!"

"A lifetime of practice, Silly. I don't think the English language has the appropriate characters to spell it though."

She stared at him for a moment, then returned her gaze to the pink mass of goo bubbling away in the pan. Just thinking about how spicy it must be was enough to make her glad she didn't have to eat.

"So~o, um, what exactly did you put in that stuff anyway?" She ventured.

The winged man 'hmm'ed in thought for a moment.

"_Deah_—half a pound goat cheese, three tablespoons cayenne, three tablespoons ground red coral, one teaspoon onion, one teaspoon garlic, salt, black pepper,um...One tablespoon cinnamon, and—Chastity why are you staring at me like that?"

The Spirit was gawking at the sheer number of spices. Without a word more, she left the confused Aspar to his 'food' and went off to tell Kindness how lucky she was that she didn't have a partner yet.

* * *

**Note: I would like to tell you how much I love all of you. But, may I ask a favor? Would you mind reviewing a bit more? I'm not begging you, and I very much want this to not sound like some attention whore's cry for more acknowledgement.**

**I know the story doesn't have a lot of chapters yet, and it hasn't been up for very long, but—it's like when you take up a new skill, and you try vey hard at getting better, and everyone is praising you and telling you what a good job you're doing. And you like the praise since it tells you that these people care about you, so you keep learning and getting better. And then the praise stops. Why does it stop? Do they not care anymore, are you not doing well enough anymore?**

**That's what it feels like. The first three reviews were wonderful. They filled my heart with rainbows, so to speak. But I've seen the hits this story gets. There are almost two hundred, and it's only been up a week. Just, please, review. I'd like to know that those hits are from people who want to see the story continue, and not from people who just stumbled upon the story.**


	6. 80: Words

King Alteon found himself pacing back and forth in his study. He really shouldn't be so nervous, but in light of what he'd learned earlier today, it was hard for him not to be.

"Just calm down, Jackson," He muttered," once Guy gets here, we can sort this whole thing out and then everything will be back to normal."

Of course, that was a lie. Things would be normal again, but not in the same way they were before. After all, finding out that your best friend isn't who he says he is tends to fracture your worldview a bit.

The soft thump-ing sound of his armchair was all Alteon needed to hear to know that his friend had entered the study.

Alteon sighed.

"It wouldn't hurt you to come in through the door every once in a while, Guy." He said.

"But then the windows will get lonely." Came the reply.

Despite the reasons for calling this meeting with Guy being serious ones, the tall man didn't show any signs that he cared. Indeed, when Alteon turned to face Guy, he was lounging sideways in the armchair, crossed legs resting on one armrest and relaxed shoulders resting on the other. Easily two heads taller than Alteon himself and clad in his now infamous white coat (which if Alteon remembered correctly, Guy had once claimed was made of nightmares) Guy was often considered the King's most intimidating companion. Now though, he was merely a man who looked very, very bored.

"Right, of course they will. I trust you know why you're here?"

"It's about that letter isn't it?" Guy said. He shifted his arms to rest his head on them. "Really, that's the only thing I can think of that would warrant such a meeting like this—unless you've been snooping and found out things you shouldn't have."

Alteon couldn't help but be surprised by that.

"There are more secrets you've been keeping from me?" He questioned.

Guy was unfazed by Alteon's outburst. "I keep secrets from everyone." He said. "You, of all people, should know how great the value of secrecy is, Mr. Rebel Leader."

The King winced. When they'd met years ago, Alteon had been leading a coup on the tyranny of the Slugwrath Dynasty. Guy, on the other hand, had been an assassin sent to kill Alteon as an example to those who might challenge Slugwrath's rule. To this day in Swordhaven, it was a popular rumor that the only reason Slugwrath was no longer King was because Guy had decided to exploit a loophole in Slugwrath's orders and help Alteon instead of kill him as he'd been paid to do.

Their work together had been done, of course, in secret.

"That was different. If what we were planning was discovered, all of us would have had our heads on a pike."

Guy smiled, but didn't say anything. He didn't need to: his smile alone told Alteon that Guy didn't think the situations were at all different.

Alteon sighed again. It was time to change his approach.

"Alright, look: I know you like your privacy, and we're all entitled to a few secrets. Lords' know there are some things I'd never tell anyone, but my name is not one of them." He said.

"Oh, so this is about the letter."

No, it wasn't. Not really. Their meeting wasn't so much about the letter as it was Guy's reaction to it. Or rather, a foreign man named V-S. K. Pulcher's reaction to it.

"I must say, I don't see what the big deal is. People go by nicknames and pseudonyms all the time. It's not something to freak out about—I mean, it's not like I've been screwing the Queen behind your back."

...

"I'm kidding, Blackjack. That was just an example of things worth freaking out about."

...

"Blackjack, if you're just going to stare at me for the rest of this little meeting, I'm going to leave."

"...Never talk about my wife like that again."

"Duely noted."

Alteon rubbed his temples. He could feel another sigh coming on. One could easily say that Guy was a pretty good speaker any day of the week, but he was an infuriating conversationalist.

"Look, Guy—"

"Yes?"

"Stop. I just want you to answer some questions for me, alright?"

Guy seemed to consider it for a minute. "Fine. Ask away."

"When we met a few years ago, you told me that you were a known assassin, and that your name was Guy Montag, right?"

"Wrong."

Alteon stepped back. He opened his mouth to ask another question, like what Guy meant, but he couldn't. Instead, the King started pacing back and forth in front of Guy, who managed to still hold on to his bored airs. For a good five minutes or so, the only sound in the study came from Alteon's footsteps.

Eventually, Alteon was able to speak again.

"What exactly do you mean by 'wrong'? Are you saying I mispoke?"

"I'm saying you misheard."

Guy shifted his position in the armchair while Alteon processed what he'd said, finally sitting in it like a normal person. Alteon could feel Guy staring at him from underneath his white hood.

To his credit, Alteon returned the man's gaze, something not many could do without needing a change of trousers afterward.

"So," Alteon said, keeping his gaze on Guy, "what exactly did you say then, if what I heard was wrong?"

Guy smiled again. A different smile, one that Alteon didn't like.

"I told you that I was a known contract killer—you heard assassin, because in your mind, they're the same thing. They aren't—contract killers have no affiliation, assassins' have their Guild."

Alteon nodded, absorbing the information.

"As for the identity of Guy Montag, the need for it comes from the 'known' part of 'known contract killer'—if you're known, at least in Quor'qoraal, it means that everyone important knows who you are—including the law enforcement." Guy said.

"And unlike in this country of yours, the law enforcement back home doesn't play around. If they set their minds on catching a criminal, he is as good as caught unless he can hide long enough for them to call off their search—which takes a good five years on average."

"So, when we met?"

"I was a wanted man hiding in a foreign country. I didn't want to take any chances. So when you demanded a name to call me by, I gave you one."

"Guy Montag." He said.

* * *

**NOTE: I hated this chapter so I rewrote it at school. It's much better now that it's been given a complete overhaul.**

**This version dosen't completely match the version in my composition book, but it'll do. I like how the ending comes across as ambiguous even though it wasn't supposed to be.**

**Also, I imagine that the average male human on Lore is 6'0, while Guy/Sepulchure is 7'6. I think it's a lovely contrast between him and my Hero, Kenna, who's 5'4.**


	7. 31: Flowers

In the background, Thursday could hear the wolves howling. They were unusually talkative today. That was the—fifteenth, howl that she had heard today? It could have been more. Not that the howls bothered her; she had been hearing them all her life. They were as familiar to her as...Hmm. She didn't really have anything to compare them to.

Thursday wracked her memory for a suitable comparison. Didn't that hero mention the lack of birdsong once? Yes, birdsong seemed to make a good simile: the howls were as familiar to her as birdsong was to others.

No matter the soundboard, she had work to do. Her beloved garden was getting full of weeds, and it would take quite some time to get rid of them all. She'd have to pull out all of the roots in order to make sure they don't grow back. And silly her, Thrusday had forgotten to bring gloves for removing the thorny weed-roots.

Oh well. Mother wasn't expecting her back for a few hours now anyway. Luckily she _had_ remembered to bring a small shovel, so the work wouldn't be _that_ hard. She quickly got to work removing the parasitic weeds from their beautiful petaled hosts.

Within an hour or so Thursday had removed most of the weeds. Her hands were hurting from being pricked by thorns so many times that she decided to take a break. As she surveyed her small haven, she noticed how a lot of the flowers were drooping. Hmm...When was the last time she watered them again? She didn't have a pail with her and the water in the swamp wasn't exactly the cleanest.

Thursday sighed and murmured an apology to the flowers. "It looks like you'll have to go thirsty for a little while longer my friends."

Another howl sounded off in the distance. She decided to take it as a cue to continue her weeding.


	8. 70: 67 Percent

_**WARNING: ENGINE FAILURE AT 67%**_

Her captain looked strained. She didn't blame him. They'd been cruising just a few AUs away from Arthuria—it was a simple mission. All they had to do was transport some medical supplies to Zargon. Simple.

When they had found out that the closest way to Zargon involved travelling through an asteroid feild, the captain had seen fit to have her ship equipped with an electromagnetic sonar. If anything were to come their way, he'd said, they would be able to move out of the way in time.

As it turned out, the field was in a part of space that didn't like EM waves. The sonar was useless. So when that one rock had come hurtling out of nowhere—well, there just wasn't anything they could do. When she'd gotten the readings and infromed her captain that the asteroid had severely damaged one of the mana vents connected to the engine, and they wouldn't be able to get enough power to move, there was even less they could do.

_**WARNING: ENGINE FAILURE AT 72%**_

It wasn't just that they couldn't move: they couldn't send for help either. All communications used EM waves to transmit their data. They were stuck. Then, out of nowhere, she spotted Lore. The captain had been so happy to find the other planet that if she could feel pain, she would have claimed that it hurt to tell him that they still couldn't move.

Of course, the captain wasn't one to give up. He demanded that she hook him up to the engine to see if his own mana reserves could help power the ship. He wasn't exactly a mage, and she had told him that the attempt would most likely kill him. But he persisted, and beyond all logical expectations he had managed to get the engines up to 53% power. Just barely enough to reach the planet.

Things were going so well. They were going to live. The ship would be repaired, their cargo could still be delivered. They would make it out of this all right. Then...

_**WARNING: ENGINE FAILURE AT 84%**_

Apparently Lore had a stronger gravitational pull than she had expected. They were being pulled down. Hard. There was no way they would be able to stablize the ship in time. The were just going to crash.

_**WARNING: ENGINE FAILURE AT 90% BRACE FOR IMPACT**_

Shrill beeps sounded to her right. The captain had passed out due to overexhaustion of mana.

_**BRACE FOR IMPACT**_

Just as well.

_**BRACE FOR IMPACT**_

It wouldn't do him any good to be awake during this.

_**BRACE FOR IMPACT**_

Taking one last look at the oncoming ground, Kordana smiled.

_**BRACE FOR IMP—**_


	9. 78: Drink

"Hey Warlic!"

"_Good morning._"

The archmage couldn't understand how Cysero could be so chipper in the morning. Especially this early in the morning. It just wasn't natural. Even Warlic himself could barely manage to stumble into the kitchen most mornings before he had his coffee.

"Guess what I did before you got up!" The weaponsmith chirped.

Something messy? Ugh, stop being so loud...Where was the coffee machine...

Cysero continued his story. "I made a dish golem!"

...What.

"You did what?" Warlic asked. Coffee could wait a bit, that was damn expensive china, andif he broke ANY OF IT—!

"I made a dish golem." Cysero repeated. "Just a few minutes ago. Over there."

He pointed at the spot. One of the corners of the kitchen, just past the island counters. Now that he was looking, that spot radiated with residual magic. Making golems usually took a lot of energy, but there was so much magic in the air that it was obvious to all of his senses, not just sight. Why hadn't he noticed before?

"...Where is the golem now?" Warlic asked.

"Don't know!" Came the reply.

Warlic groaned. This was going to be one of those days wasn't it? He needed coffee. Just past the stove, in the corner and—

"The coffee machine is gone."

The weaponsmith grinned sheepiliy. "Yeah, I kinda used it to make a head for my golem."

...That's it. All hope is lost. The coffee machine is gone and darkness shall blanket the world for eons. At least the china is alright.

"And I made the body out of the fancy plates."

God Damnit.

* * *

**Note: Sorry for the lack of updates. I was lazy. Has the update spam appeased you?**


	10. 29: Beast

At this point, Chaney didn't really know what was louder: the thunder, or his heartbeat.

It had all happened so fast. He was just making a trip to the pumpkin patch to pick up some moonglow. It wasn't very far, barely a mile. He had his weapons on him, so he would be safe from anything (well, _almost_ anything) that tried to attack him. Not that anything would, but when you live in a place like Amityvale, you learn to be prepared.

There were a few clouds in the sky when he left his house, something that_ should _have triggered a few red flags and make him decide not to go out tonight, but there was no sense in beating himself up about it now.

Things had gone on wonderfully. He'd gotten his moonglow, and chatted with the neighbors; he'd been attacked by crows but they went down fairly quickly.

He'd felt a few raindrops fall on his shirt, but he wasn't worried. He'd heard the thunder cracking, but he didn't think any of it. Thunderstorms were very common here.

Then he heard the growling. And he smelled the wet fur. And not too far off in the bushes, he saw the eyes.

In that moment, the werewolf lept. And in that moment, he panicked.

In his haste to run from the creature, Chaney dropped his moonglow, and his weapon. It wasn't made of silver, so it wouldn't have helped anyway. For a split second, he thought he might escape. Then he tripped in the now slick, and loose mud.

The beast was on him before he had a chance to recover. It didn't even waste any time, clawing into his back almost immediately. He could barely make out the creatures actions through the rainfall. It was lowering it's head to bite into his neck. Most likely it was going to break his windpipe. Chaney could already feel the breath getting closer.

He'd accepted his fate. He was going to die now. He couldn't even see it anymore, the mud had gotten too thick.

He heard it growl as it readied it's jaws—then stop. It's nose popped up next to his ear, giving a curious sniff.

_"...Chaney...?"_

The werewolf climbed off of his back. A clawed hand grabbed the back of his shirt and hoisted him up off the ground. Another brushed the excess mud off of his shoulders, not that that did much given that the rain was soaking him to the bone.

The werewolf's muzzle suddenly appeared in his face. Chaney stumbled back and let out a shriek—maybe it was going to kill him after all.

But nothing happened. It simply stared at him for a few seconds, then turned and fled into the surrounding farmland.

The whole encounter had taken only a few minutes. Chaney spent a few minutes more dumbfounded, staring into the area the creature had vanished. Eventually he reclaimed his things, and stumbled back to his house. It was only after closing the door did he realize something.

"How did that thing know my name?"

* * *

**NOTE: Just found out that Seppy's backstory was revealed in AQWorlds. And it sucks. Basically, replace Xan, Warlic, and Jaania with Valen(Seppy), Alden(Alteon), and Lynaria. Seriously. Since this is in AQWorlds, I am going to assume it isn't canon for Dragonfable. But if it is, I'm going to ignore it. I rather liked the "turned to evil after the death of a loved one" story and based my Seppy around it.**

**So in future chapters featuring Sir Pulcher/Sepulchure and King Alteon, Alteon will still be named Jackson, Seppy will still have his psuedonym and an actual real name revealed later on, and Lynaria will be an entirely different person.**

**Of course, this means that we are now blatantly going against canon, something I have never done before with this game (When filling in the blanks, I've always made sure everything checks out first and no canon is being ignored) but I will just _not_ accept this retcon. That being said, sorry for a week of no updates.**


	11. 22: Mother

"Vicki?"

"Yes Tara?"

"What was Mom like?"

The teen looked down at her sister in shock. The little girl was busy snuggling in her lap, trying to get comfy, and being completely oblivious to her sister's gaze. She'd had trouble sleeping and came into Victoria's room for safety from the Closet Monsters a while ago, and they'd spent the time since then talking. Why was Mother coming up?

"Why do you ask? Don't you remember?" Tara wasn't that old when Mother died, but she should still remember some things.

The little princess shook her head. "Not really." She mumbled. "I kinda remember playing with her and getting dressed for a party once or twice, but not much else."

Oh. "Do you still remember what she looked like?"

"Uh-uh."

That wasn't surprising. Tara had always had a problem with faces, so that was probably one of the first things to go. What did mother look like again?

"She looked a bit like you. Really long black hair and bright green eyes. Brittany got her eyes from Mom, we got ours from Dad. You kinda have her nose too."

Tara giggled a little bit when Victoria emphasived that fact by booping said nose.

"Was she nice?"

"Of course she was! Mom was the nicest person ever! Unless you got on her bad side, she didn't really like it when she caught us doing something we weren't suposed to. Like once she caught Brittany digging up her flowers, you know those really big, expensive ones in the front garden that we got sent in from Mythsong? She was grounded for months!"

"No way."

"Yes way."

"Tell me more about Mom! What else was she like?"

Victoria smiled, and told her sister all about their mother: her smile, her singing, her laughter...Everything.

* * *

**NOTE: No I didn't write this because yesterday was Mother's Day, shut up. That would imply that I actually think about these things.**

**On a side note, I need to stop updating once a week. At this rate I'm never going to get this thing finished. I'll try to get other chapters posted today, but don't count on it.**


	12. 46: Family

"Alright, now, put your _left_ hand on my_ right _forearm."

"'Kay."

"Move your—right leg and hook it over my left."

"Like this?"

"Yes, like that. Hold up your right arm and _reach for the sky_—!"

_Whump_

"And that, little princess, is how you escape being pinned on the floor."

Tara smiled, a sight that he would be lying if he said wasn't cute. He'd offered to teach her how to get out of holds after that attempted kidnapping last week, and so far she'd been making leaps and bounds.

Of course, given said lessons required him to put her in said holds, and most of them (or at least this particular one) looked a bit—questionable—when seen out of context, he'd felt to need to hold these lessons in a private room. Which now that he thought about it was even more questionable.

She slid off of his chest and held out a hand to help him up. Feeling the slightest need to show off a little, he rolled into a sort of reverse tumble and just used the momentum to stand.

"Oooh, neat! When are you gonna teach me how to do that?" She asked.

"Never. I've got to keep some secrets to myself, you know."

She looked at him with mock dissapproval. The little princess even had her arms all akimbo to make her point. How cute.

"And why not?" She demanded.

"I just told you why. Are you going deaf? Should I take you to Dr. McCoy? Dammnit Tara, I told your father I would protect you with my life!"

He did, too. At this point he was basically the royal bodyguard. Kinda ironic considering he used to be the guy the body guards were supposed to guard their client's bodies_ from_, but that was beside the point. At least Tara had the sense to know he was just joking.

Oh hey she was laughing. Scratch that,_ giggling_. Cute. Painful and grating on his ears, but cute.

"No, I'm not going deaf, dummy! I'm fine!" Tara _giggled_, "You really are strange sometimes Uncle Guy."

_Uncle?_

"Since when am I your uncle? Pardon me if I'm wrong, but your father was nowhere near close to my genepool the last time I checked."

"You checked?"

"We live in a world where people are constantly proving to be related to other people by various means, even though those people have never met and/or are radically different in ways that vary from simple features, to being a completely different species. So yes,_ I checked_."

It took her a few minutes to process what he'd said. During those minutes she had a very confused expression that somehow bordered on disturbed and intreigued simultaneously. Cu—

No—no now that he got a better look it was more funny that cute. Very funny. He made a mental note to remember that face for the next time Artix was talking a bluestreak about somethingorother. If anything the sudden snickering would scare the paladin off and he could return to his business.

Tara shrugged off the odd implications of how exactly he would discertain whether or not he and her father were related and just smiled.

"I still _think of you _as an uncle. Artix told me that his uncle was always doing silly things and making him laugh, and that's what you do." She explained.

"Aside from saving your life and making sure you don't get kidnapped more often. There's that too."

She giggled again. Ugh, why did she keep doing that, that pitch was literally _painful_ to hear.

"See? You're a great uncle, I haven't stopped smiling once!"

He was about to correct her, but the Cute summoned up by the smile was just too strong. So he held his tongue and let her bask in her Happy.

Uncle, huh? He could live with that. He'd gone from bodyguard/knight to honorary member of the royal family.

What now bitches.

* * *

**NOTE: The "He" in this chapter is Sepulchure in case you didn't know (Or you didn't read chapter 6). I don't know why, but I love the idea of Tara referring to Seppy as "Uncle". It just tickles me the right way in my heart. Also, uncles in fiction turn out to be evil when mixed up with royalty, so there's that.**

**Yes that was a _Star Trek_ reference in the story. No I am not going to point it out because If you watched the show it should be obvious. And no, I do _not_ watch the show, so don't bring it up later. I only put that in because it was a stealth joke involving another show. A joke within a joke, really.**

**I'm not going to explain it here, but I will say that the first person who figures it out gets to decide what the next chapter after that will be about (in terms of characters and basic scenario, not just theme). Just message me your answers, tell me what I'm using the reference to reference in the second layer of joke.(like, "The first reference is X, but the_ second_ one is Y, and that's why it's there.)**

**I'll give you a hint: it involves the word Bones.**


	13. 47: Creation

Together.

That was the only sensation for the longest time. A feeling of wholenees. Togetherness. Of being safe.

Then.

Separation. Removal. Apartness.

_Vulnerability._

New sensations formed. Coldness. Compactness. Being much too small in a place much too large.

Then.

Self. Awareness._ I._

There was an "I" now. A "he". He was he.

And he wanted. He wanted _so badly_.

He wanted to feel that wholeness again. That safety. That comfort that he once had.

"Sssssssso, you're awake are you? Good. I didn't actually think that would work, but I'm running out of optionssssss."

Hearing. That voice...It carried that same togetherness from before.

He looked up to view the speaker. A floating figure of black and yellow, smiling down at him in a pleased fashion.

"Interesssssting...Yesssssss, you'll do nissssely. Do you know who I am? Do you know what you are?" It asked.

Yes. He was he. What are you?

Why do you feel like wholeness?

"I am Greed. You are my own essssessssence made living. I created you, little creature, ssssso you will do well to lissssten to my orderssss."

The figure grabbed him. The second it's hand made contact with his body he felt that togetherness once more. This being was made of the same thing he was. He was complete again.

Then the figure removed it's hand, and instantly the togetherness was lost. He was alone again. But—the figure of Greed was right in front of him. He didn't understand.

"You missss the ssssafety of my own threadssss? Jusssst assss well; if you are a good enough sssservant, you may return to them. Do you undersssstand, my little..._Greedling_?"

Yes. He understood. He would do anything his creator said if it meant returning to that togetherness.

Anything.

* * *

**NOTE: Apparently all of my chapters have notes now. I can deal with that. This chpater turned out much more serious than it was supposed to—I imagine Greedling with the mentality of a child, but that was not at all conveyed here.**

**OH WELL. Just a bit of clarification with the reference contest from last chapter, yes, if you guess the second reference right you will be able to dictate what a chapter will be (what happens and all that), but I'm not giving you free reign. Nothing sexual, no yoai/yuri, no derailing of characters unless it's because of Rule of Funny/Cool. Keep it tame. I just wanted to put that out there before someone gets the answer right and I get saddled with something I really don't want to do.**


	14. 71: Obsession

_Two hundred and sixty-four years, two hundred and eighty-two days, thirteen hours, fourty-two minutes, seven seconds. Eight_ _seconds. Nine._

All those years ago, at that moment, his life had been ruined. _Twelve seconds._

Some would say it was improved.

_Fifteen seconds._

He would have to disagree. Sure, he gained incredible power beyond his wildest dreams. _ Nineteen seconds._

But at what cost?

Jaania. Oh how he missed her. Looking back, he didn't really even know her. He just thought she was beautiful. And she was, but there was more to her than that. _Twenty-three seconds._ There had to be.

If he could figure out a way—when he would—he would have to remedy his lack of knowledge. She was an aivd reader. She was nice, at least to—

To—

Both of them. Nice to both of them. The girl was a saint for putting up with their bickering.

He'd lost count of the seconds. Where was his clock?

Ah.

There it was. Above his desk, right where it was the last time he lost count. The time was—_Two hundred and sixty-four years, two hundred and eighty-two days, thirteen hours, fourty-two—fourty-three minutes, one second. Two seconds. Three._

Maybe he should stop fixating on what happened. Oh, but that was easier said than done. The colossal impact it had made on his life could not be ignored. It had changed his perception of the world. How people percieved him. How he percieved himself.

It had changed everything.

He'd lost count again. Maybe he should just let it go.

_Where was the clock?_

It wasn't like obsessing over the past would help him.

_There it was. Right where it was the last time he lost count._

The fact that he was practically a hermit was testament to that.

_Two hundred and sixty-four years, two hundred and eighty-two days, thirteen hours, fourty-three minutes, fifty-seven seconds._

_Fourty-four minutes._

But he needed to know how long it had been.

All those years ago, at that moment, Warlic's life had been ruined.

* * *

**NOTE: Xan isn't the only crazy mage in the game. According to the Design notes, what happened between Xan, Warlic, and Jaania continues to haunt our beloved Blue Mage. Of course, even if it didn't say that I'd have written this chapter anyway. Strangely, as I was typing this, the tone sounded less like Warlic and more like the Otherworld (think Mirrorverse from AQWorlds) version of him from one of the many Dragonfable AUs I come up with. That Warlic is comepletely psychotic (read: detatched from reality, not violent and "crazy" like Jack Torrance) so it was probably the fanatical counting of seconds that made the tone seem off.**

**I may put up his story some time in the future. I have another AU in the meantime that has captured my interest.**

**Sorry for not updating in roughly a month. I'm not going to lie, for the most part I was just lazy. For the last two weeks I have been busy though. On the plus side, school's over tomorrow, which means you guys will be getting so many updates it won't even be funny.**


	15. 16: Questions

**This takes place immediately after 1: Introduction, and some time before 87: Food.**

* * *

She did it. After ten years of searching, Chastity had found her SoulAlly. Her partner in crime, the person she could rely on in times of trouble.

_"Search high and low for that demon! We've got to find him!"_

Of course, new partner or not, they were still stuck on the roof.

She noticed Aspar flinch at the word 'demon'. He apparently noticed her gaze and gave her a strained smile.

"Well, it could be worse," He said, gesturing to the still rampaging student body,"at least they're not firebombing the campus yet."

_They're not WHAT?_

"What do you mean?" She asked.

The smile on her new partner's face disappeared and he started awkardly shifting his wings. He looked like he was trying to find the right way to tell a child that granny isn't going to wake up again.

She continued, "Why would you think the students would bomb the building just because one of their classmates was a different race?"

Aspar gave her a nervous smile this time. "I take it you haven't been on this plane for a long time then, Miss Chastity?" He asked.

"I've been told that ten years is a long time, so yes."

His smile faltered and he looked at her in disbelief. He'd opened his mouth to say something, but instead turned to the courtyard. He started shifting his wings again.

"...Aspar?"

"Yes Miss Chastity?"

"Have people really bombed buildings for racial disputes?"

"...Yes Miss Chastity. More times than I can bare to know."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. For many reasons really. Sometimes it comes down to their religion, sometimes it's their country, other times it's their abilites, still others it's their appearence. Like me for example."

He made a sweeping gesture over himself. "That guy wasn't kidding around when he called me a demon; look at me. I've got wings, horns, talons, sharp teeth and a tail. Combined with an 'unnormal' skin tone, to them I'm the _oonholdklayvin _of a demon."

"I don't see a tail." She deadpanned. She hadn't seen one when she snuck up on him earlier, so where was—

What she'd taken to be lavender piping on his pant leg slowly unwound and began idly waving in front of her. So there it was.

"...Why was that wrapped around your leg?"

"Have you ever slammed your fingers in a door?" He asked.

_Oh._ Chastity shuddered in sympatheic pain.

Aspar shrugged again. He looked back down at the courtyard. The students were dispersing; they might be able to leave the roof soon.

"The main fear when dealing with Succubi is that we'll steal your soul and eat it." He said.

Chastity would be lying if she said those words didn't scare her, though if it was from their suddeness or their meaning she couldn't tell.

"Could you?"

He nodded. "It's a—_bauwat-ta tzenn_—defense machine. A person can live with their soul sealed in a phylactery, but they can't live if it's destroyed. Basically it turns the victim into a rock or kills them outright; in either case the Succubus can get away safely. Very handy considering the monsters we have at home."

Chastity fumbled her words for a few moments as she tried to process what he had said.

"But...Would you do it?" She managed to croak.

"Only in an emergency and never on another person."

Aspar looked back at the courtyard. He turned to her.

"We might be able to get past them now. How high can you hover?" He asked.

"Not very high I'm afraid." Chastity replied.

The winged man let out what sounded like a quiet growl of irritation. He shook his head and looked back at her. Aspar held out his hand.

"I'm sure I can carry us both in that case. Come on, let's go." He said.

She took his hand. The roof was getting dreary anyway. Aspar extended his wings, and with a few powerful flaps the two were up in the air.

* * *

**NOTE: Aspar does not speak fluent English at this point. He's got most of the words down, but not all of them, and tends to use malapropisms. At this point I can understand why Native Americans don't have a written language—certain sounds can't be replicated in text.**

**This was supposed to start with them leaving the roof and meeting with the other Virtuous Spirits, but then it turned into a discussion about racism. I don't know how that happened.**

**_Oonholdklayvin _means something similar to "poster child". _B__auwat-ta tzenn _is a place holder for a word, originally he was going to say "what's the word", but I figured he'd still use his first language for stuff like that.**


	16. 12: Insanity

He'd heard a quote once about some fictional character he used to read about when he was a kid: "All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day." When he was little he never believed that quote.

Sure, some days were bad, some days were good, and some days made you want to just give up. But how could one day drive "the sanest man alive to lunacy"? It was so silly. Laughable even.

Then he had had that one bad day.

And then he stopped laughing at that quote.

Then, he started laughing at everything.

His life, their lives, his failures, the weather, politics, his pain, their pain, even their deaths—EVERYTHING.

It was so pathetic. Laughable even.

In fact, he'd recently found the book he got that quote from all those years ago. It turned out to be a comic book of all things. (Of course it probably had to have been, he found it as a child and what boy would pick books over comics?)

_The Killing Joke_ it was called. About a man's descent into insanity. Charming really.

When he was a kid he found the story to be terrifying. (Again, looking back, how the hell did he even get that thing?) But after his own bad day he found it to be quite telling. The parallels between himself and the character—The Joker, he himself was called—were quite striking. He even had his own nemesis, his own "_Batman_" in that accursed mage that destroyed his life and came out of the wreckage no worse for the wear.

So he found a sense of nostalgic pleasure in reading the book again. Though some of the pages were lost to time, what he could read strengthened him.

This character, this—_Joker_ was like him. A man who only wanted to improve his lot in life before one man,_ one evil, wretched and horrific man_, ruined everything. A man who struck out against the world that had wronged him by inflicting his own pain on the people of that world. A man who laughed at the follies of the people who tried to "_understand_" and "_help_" him because he didn't need their help.

In a sense, he was the Joker brought to life.

Now to create his own "_Killing Joke_", preferably with that mage as its recipient.

* * *

**NOTE: The sad thing is, if you've read _The Killing Joke_, you'll know just how wrong Xan is in his interpretation. If you've read "Obsession", you'll know he's wrong about Warlic too. I told myself I wasn't going to use Xan for this prompt, but I wanted to do this thing and it was the only prompt that would fit. If there were a prompt for "laughing", or "joking", I would have done those instead.**

**I didn't forget my promise of updates. The thing is, I forgot a bunch of things when I made that statement. Like the yardwork we were doing, the fact that I have family coming over for the summer, and the possibility of losing my beloved compy. Which is what happened, I've been grounded for the past few weeks. Stupid me didn't write down the prompt list so I haven't written anything before this.**

**Sorry. Have you been appeased, my readers?**


	17. 86: Seeing Red

Though she was easy to spot from the snow, given that her mage robes were black and red and all, Kenna was mostly ignored by the troupes of plush golems that still hung around Zadd's fortress. They weren't 'at war' anymore, so the golems didn't really see any point in attacking.

The reason she had returned to the fortress was to recover some plushies that hadn't yet returned to their owners. Plushies were expensive when bought separately, some of the more complex ones going for tens of thousands of gold, so it wasn't any surprise that their owners wanted them back. She was glad that she had gotten all of hers for a few hundred dragon coins instead of spending her life's savings on one or two.

Still, she was the local hero, so it was her duty to help people.

The owners had given her a list of the plushies that were missing: five Zhoom plushies, three Cysero, one Artix, one Drakath (who would want a plushie of _that_ idiot?), _seven_ Tomix-es (must be the goatee), and one Ash. That last one was property of Aria, so she was extra determined to get it back.

So with her backpack filled with staffs, her pouch filled with potions, and her equipment firmly placed, Kenna ventured into the fortress.

* * *

In retrospect, she should have worn warmer robes. This place was freezing. Even on the inside of the fortress, it was freezing.

Thankfully, she had managed to round up most of the plushies on her list; all that was left now were some of the Tomix-es and a Zhoom plushie. Though it wasn't all that hard locating the missing plushies; she just rounded up any of them that were on her list, it wasn't like the owners were going to notice.

She was currently taking a breather on a healing pad that was in the fortress for some reason, when she noticed a splash of red underneath one of the machines Zadd used to make the plushies.

"What could you be?" she wondered.

Experience had taught Kenna to not make a move on unfamiliar things unless she had all the engery and mana she could first. Who knew what it might have been?

Once her energy was restored she approached the machine. The red thing wasn't moving. Gingerly, she reached under the machine and pulled the red thing out from under it.

A Sepulchure plushie. These things made even less sense than the Drakath plushies. Drakath at least was a mostly harmless idiot, but why would you make a doll of the guy currently trying to take over the world?

It took her a moment to notice that the plushie was missing its helmet. She didn't even know the things were removable. Half of its head was black, probably to make a silouhette effect when the helmet was on. Terrycloth 'hair' served to make the thing almost endearing.

Almost.

Still, if memory served correctly, these things were pretty handy in a fight. Maybe it would be worth holding onto.

She stuffed the thing hapazardly into her backpack, and, taking a moment to remember which part of the fortress she was in, went on to get the rest of the plushies on her list.

* * *

**NOTE: I planned on introducing one character in this chapter in introduced two. So, yeah, Kenna Price is the Hero of my headcanon. Yes she is my character as well. The reason I put her in is because I have several other characters whose exsistence require her to be there, most notably Jed and his friend Dione by extension. I have quite a few chapters planned with those characters, so I needed to put her in the story. Even if I didn' want to.**

**The plushies have their own page of headcanon on my computer, but that may be explained later. Here's hoping this chapter is better liked than the last one.**


	18. 69: Annoyance

This had to stop. It had started out as a thought exercise, being given an idea or image and then being told not to think about it. That in itself was harmless, even he would sometimes amuse himself in such a manner.

Then it snowballed out of control. And now...

"Klaatu, I just lost the game!"

"Damnit, now I just lost the game!"

Now it was just really, really annoying. Especially since they were doing this on _his_ time instead of in their own off hours. He'd been in here only five minutes and these idiots were already grating on his last nerve.

In an effort to stop the madness, Sepulchure cleared his throat in an unnecessarily loud manner.

_**"Ahem."**_

The chattering necromancers stopped at once. Good.

"Yes, Sire?" One asked.

_**"Gort, you called me in here with the news of stronger undead. Where are they?"**_

The necromancer blinked, clearly caught offguard, and motioned to his fellows for assistance. The others dissmissed his request for help, leaving the poor fool on his own. Gort, as his name was, sighed and ushered the Doomknight to a covered slab in the morgue/lab the necromancers conducted their experiments in. The sheet wasn't very large, so he could see the cloven feet of the presumably patchwork creature underneath.

"Now Sire, you are familiar with the 'Spare Parts' creatures made by the students of the Necropolis, yes?" Gort said as he gestured to the slab.

_**"Yes, I was invited to see the creation of such a creature."**_ That was an interesting weekend to say the least.

Gort seemed a bit nervous as he said that. The fool probably didn't expect him to know about the creatures and based his presentation around that. Why were his minons so incompetent?

"Err, yes, well, I've managed to improve on their designs signifactanly, and—"

_**"Improving the desgin of college students isn't that big of an accomplishment, but go on."**_

As Gort was damn near trembling under his gaze, Sepulchure could see two others, Klaatu and Verada, idly chatting about the 'game' they had apparently lost earlier.

"Ehm, well, anyway Sire, the thing is, is that—eep!" Just after he had finally worked up the confidence to continue, Gort was silenced by the armored hand in front of his face.

_**"One moment. Gort, I can clearly tell you were not ready for this presentation yet. You may try again tomorrow, and if you do not think you can make this worth my time, I suggest you start looking for other means of employment.**_"

Gort squeaked in fear. He was not going to last long with his timid attitude.

Seplchure turned to face the still-chattering figures of Klaatu and Verada.

_**"And as for you two,"**_ they stopped talking at the mention of their persons,_**"if I hear any variation of the words 'I lost the game', regardless of context, you will both lose a quarter of your pay. Is that understood?"**_

They sputtered for a bit, but eventually he heard a "Yes, Sire" from both of them.

_**"Good."**_

With that, he left.

* * *

"Nicto?"

"Yes Verada?"

"I just lost the game."

_**"I heard that."**_

"#*&%!"

* * *

**NOTE: In homage (read: blatant rip-off) to a chapter of Sylvia's story, we explore what would really happen if Sepulchure was exposed to the game. If you notice, there is a slight interface difference between how Sepulchure was written and how "Guy" was written in chapter 12. See if you can find it. ;)**

**Also, guess what I've been working on instead of new chapters? I'm making a cover featuring Aspar and Chastity. I can't tell when it will be done since I'm working with MSPaint (without a base by the way, since I couldn't find one) and I'm an incredibly finicky artist, but I like how it's coming out so far. I'm not showing you Aspar's face yet, but here's a sneak peek: Go to Imgur dot com and type DbaHR after the /. I'd give the actual link, this site but doesn't like links.**


	19. 37: Eyes

Birds were chirping. The sun wasn't shining yet, which meant it was somewhere between Five and Six in the morning.

Which, in turn, meant it was time for him to get up.

Aspar let out a yawn as he turned to look at his bedside clock. The time was 5:45 am. He frowned a bit at that.

"Looks like I'm running a bit late today." He murmured.

Not that it mattered, his earliest class started at 7:50 am, and he could always fly there if he was really late. Not being all that late today, he still had plenty of time to get ready for the day.

With that in mind, he got out of bed, got out some clothes (not that there was much to choose from since all he had brought with him were some of his old Navy flight suits), and headed for the shower. A quick rinse and some suiting up later, the Succubus was ready to face the world.

"Well," he noted, "almost ready."

He still needed his glasses after all. He'd never been able to see well without them when he was a kid and he still needed them twenty-some years later.

Now where were they...?

* * *

Chastity was in the kitchen, chopping up onions to make a breakfast omelette for the two of them. She didn't know a lot about cooking, but Diligence had been giving her lessons on the subject and she wanted to try out her new skills.

It helped that Aspar had left that big pink visor he always wore on the counter; that thing was awesome for dicing onions. The fact that she looked cute wearing it was just a bonus.

"Chastity?," she heard through the wall,"Have you seen my glasses anywhere? I can't find them in my room."

"Yeah, I'm using them. I'm in the kitchen making breakfast." She yelled back.

"Thank you."

With that over with, Chastity gathered her onions and poured them in the skillet along with the other veggies. Unfortunately her attempts at flipping the omelette failed horribly, so she ended up making an egg and vegetable stir-fry.

"That looks good."

"Eep!"

She jumped a bit at the sudden noise. More than a bit miffed, Chastity turned to face her partner.

"You know, you really shouldn't sneak up on me like that." she said.

"But it's so _fun_." He replied.

"I'll take those." He added, plucking the pink glasses off of the Spirit's face.

Chastity huffed and turned off the stove. "How much do you want?" She asked.

"Not that much, don't really have much of an appetite today. Thanks though, this _does_ look good."

If she had the capability, Chastity would probably be blushing at the compliment. She just settled for a thank-you though.

"So why were you looking so hard for your glasses?," she said as she scooped the meal onto some plates," You can't be that desparate to accessorize."

Aspar laughed. "It's not a fashion statement, I actually need these. I'm photophobic: bright light hurts my eyes and makes it hard to see. The glasses help with that."

Well that was news to her. "Huh. Didn't think a guy your age would need something like that. You mind taking these to the table?" She asked.

"A guy my age? I'm thirty-seven."

"Really? You look younger." She said, taking a bite of the stir-fry. Wow. This _was_ good.

Aspar shrugged. "Different species age differently."

"So is that eye thing serious? I mean, if there's some thing I should know, you can tell me now, but..."

Aspar took a few moments before answering.

"It—_could_ be serious. The doctor said that there was someting wrong with the muscles in my eyes. He said that there was a possibility I may go blind. It was one of the reasons I requested to be discharged."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know—" her partner held up a hand in dissmissal.

"It's alright. It's something I've been living with my whole life."

He gave her a hug, and thanked her again for breakfast, then left the house to go to his first class of the day. Chastity stayed at the table for a while, then went off to thank Diligence for her lessons.

* * *

**NOTE: The original draft for this had Chastity throwing away the glasses because she thought they were ugly, but then I realized that as the personification of a Heavenly Virtue, she's probably not that mean.**

**Also, Chapter 5, the chapter featuring Aspar cooking, is my most visited chapter (aside from Chapter 1, which is excluded for obvious reasons) so Chastity was cooking here.**

**The cover is coming along nicely, I've made a lot of progress on Chastity, and have completed most of Aspar's upper body. I gotta say, I love that Spiritlooms are apparently unique to the Soulweaver that uses them, or else this would take a lot longer to get done.**


	20. 6: Break Away

Oh how he hated these Galas. Every single one of them was the same. Not a single detraction from the norm could be tolerated, all must follow the formula like it has since the dawn of time:

Show up. Stand next to Blackjack. Greet guests with a pasted on smile that would start to hurt within minutes but would have to be kept on for hours. Be set free to 'mingle'. Occasionally graze the buffet for boring food. Retreat to room halfway through the gala when no one is looking.

Nobody knew where his room was, so it wasn't like they could do anything about it.

The only other perk he was allowed to enjoy was the fact that he had been able to convince Blackjack that the white coat (or should it be called a cloak? Coats in this country don't have hoods) he always wore was religious in nature and can't be removed unless he returned to Quorral soil. Which in itself wasn't a _lie_, he _had_ based the beloved garment on some robes he saw monks wearing way back when, and being a wanted man and all he sure as hell wasn't going to take it off until his name was cleared and he could go back home.

Twisting the truth was fine, but he would never lie to his friend.

"Excuse me?" Called a voice from the other side of the buffet table. Female, by the sound of it.

He didn't even bother answering, it was probably just some stuck up baroness going to whine at him for loitering around the punchbowl. At least he didn't spike it like last time. He smiled at the memory. Blackjack _still_ hadn't figured out who did it.

"Excuse me, sir?" You will not let up, will you lady? She'd gotten closer, but still nothing to—

There are hands flailing in front of his face.

"...What?"

"Oh, so you can speak! You didn't answer so I thought I'd have to resort to signing." The woman chirped.

Oh joy. "What is so important that you felt the need to disturb my thoughts?"

"Well, I saw you and I just had to ask—"

"I don't dance."

"—is that a pluto on your—I'm sorry, what?"

"What?"

She looked confused for a moment. He could honestly say he felt the same. He was a very recognizable and 'mysterious' figure in Swordhaven, being a bachelor as well had made him unwillingly popular among the city's women. That this one wasn't asking for a dance was surprising to say the least.

The woman clarified: "The symbol on your back. It's a pluto, right?"

She was asking about his coat. No one asked about his coat beyond why he wore it.

"Yes. Yes it is. Are you familiar with alchemy?" Stop talking to her. Look at how pretty she is, this is obviously a trap.

She laughed. What a lovely sou—no. Stop it. Get a hold of yourself man.

"No, I'm afraid I only know bits and pieces. I had an alchemist as a roommate in college, so I kinda picked up on what she knew. I think her name was Alac..." The woman trailed off.

Stop talking to me. "Why did you feel the need to speak with me? I'm sure there are others who would provide far more interesting conversation."

He was given a smile this time. "What, I'm not allowed to strike up a conversation with a stranger?"

No. There is always an ulterior motive with you harpies. "I'm not exactly a stranger in this city."

She kept smiling. "Is that so? Judging by your expression, I'd say you're the Royal Party-Pooper."

You try pretending to be nice to people you can't stand for five hours every month.

"_You_ try pretending to be nice to people you can't stand for eight hours _everyday_, Mister."

Wait, had he said that last comment out loud? Oh hey, there was another hand in his face.

"I'm Lucielle Addams. Don't call me Lucy, or I'll hurt you. I run the Library of Commons downtown. And you?"

Librarian, huh? Oh, he would have fun with this. He took a deep breath and gave her her answer.

"Not man; man once I was, and both my parents were of Lombardy, and Mantuans by country both of them. Sub Julio was I born, though it was late, and lived at Rome under the good Augustsus, during the time of false and lying gods. A poet was I, and I sang that just Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy, after that Ilion the superb was burned."

He didn't even try to hide his smile as she gawked at his words. Every intellectual he met would ask him who he was and he would give them that response. It was always so much fun watching them squirm when they tried to figure out what he'd just said.

"...Art thou Virgilius and that fountain which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?"

What. "What?"

She clarified. "That passage. That was from the Divine Comedy, when Virgil introduces himself to Dante. I was just continuing it. So is your name Virgil?"

Son of a bitch she actually knew what he was talking about.

"...No. I—my name is..." Don't tell her your name. "Call me Guy." Good save.

"Nice to meet you Guy. Say, when did you read the Comedy? It isn't exactly light reading, and well, not many people would choose it over say, a novel, and..."

He let her trail off. There wasn't much that could be said about those books that he didn't already know. Still, it was nice to have someone finally know what he was talking about.

Maybe he wouldn't need to leave early this time.

* * *

**NOTE: Long chapter is long. For those of you that care, I didn't copy/paste the Divine Comedy passages, those were transcribed from the copy of the story I had on my bookshelf. So yeah, another Guy chapter, this one introducing a love interest. The original draft of this had him leaving King Alteon's side to go meet with Lucielle, but I like this version better.**

**Yes, I do imagine Sepulchure to be a well-read and verbose person, why else would he call himself Guy Montag? (Pat yourself on the back if you know where that name comes from.) However, I also imagine him to be a jackass who only whips out that fancy learned talk when he's trying to one-up someone, or he just feels like it.**

**Also, why have there been no reviews lately? Have the last six chapters just been Meh?**


	21. 33: Expectations

A drunken Chaosweaver stumbled down the alley with whiskey in his hand and murder in his eyes. He knew he'd seen that yellow menace Greed somewhere here. It didn't matter that his buddies said that that thing was dead and gone, he knew monsters like that didn't die easy. He knew it was still out there. All he needed to do was just find the bastard.

"Cam'on yeh bahsted, Ah know yehr there!" He called, waving around his whiskey. "Cum owt an' show yehrself!"

The alley refused to utter a sound.

"Oh, so year gunna hied like tha coward ewe are, eh? Well FINE! Issnot like ah gots playces ta be! Ah can sidhere all night if Ah haftu!"

He glanced around for a relatively clean spot on the ground and drank some more of his whiskey. The alcohol would help him think better.

_cLank_

The Chaosweaver whipped around and threw his bottle at the source of the noise. A small 'Eep!' told him that his whiskey had not been wasted. He'd found his prey.

"Ooooh, so thas where you arrrre." The Chaosweaver murmered. That sound was only a few feet away from where he was standing, one of the many trash bins scattered about Ravenloss. He laughed. "Wehell, It looks lak Ah wun't hafta sidhere all night then!"

Without a second thought he shoved his arm into the space between the trash bin and the alley wall, grinning like a man possessed as his hand caught something not quite corporeal. "Ha! Ah gotchu now!"

The bastard felt a little small. No wonder, it had taken a direct hit from Vaal himself! It'd probably been spending all it's time getting it's strength back. Which meant, of course, that he could kill it.

That thought sobered the inebrated Chaosweaver a bit. If he killed Greed, he'd be a hero, right? But Vaal killed that monster, didn't he?...No. No, he didn't. Vaal tried to kill Greed and failed! The ghostly blob trying to wrench its way out of his hands was proof of that. So if _he_ killed Greed, he'd be able to do what Vaal couldn't! Wouldn't that make him better than Vaal?

The thought of something so heretical sent shivers down the Chaosweaver's drunken form, and he redoubled his efforts to get a better hold on his catch. He could hear it squeaking at him.

"_Ah! Let me go! lemmegolemmegolemmegolemmego —_"

"Oh, quit yehr squirmin' yah li'ul bitch! This'll only hurt alot!"

He yanked it back from behind the trash bin, laughing at his find—and stopped.

This wasn't Greed. What was—? This was that little masked thing that followed him around! Where the hell was the big one!

The Chaosweaver yelled in frustration and threw the quivering mass of gold and thread into the opposing wall. The resulting thunk sounded painful, and the little blob stopped squirming when it hit the ground. The Chaosweaver sneered at it and spat on the ground where it lay. Then he realized that his whiskey _had_ been wasted digging this creature up. He yelled again and stormed out of the alley, not bothering to look back at the small yellow blob. The thing was probably dead anyway.

He still hadn't found Greed. But finding and ending that monster wasn't his top priority anymore. Right now, he needed to find more whiskey.

* * *

**NOTE: The reason I haven't updated sooner is because I've spent the past week helping out with the war effort in Atrea.**


	22. 38: Abandoned

It was many hours before Greedling awoke in the decrepit alley. The drunken Chaosweaver had had a very strong arm, and the force of his sudden meeting with the alley wall had been enough to knock him unconcious. Though that was probably for the better; even hours later the small mass of Soul Thread was in a great deal of pain. Blunt Force Trauma will do that to you, after all.

Greedling sniffled in his sideways position. He didn't have any arms to lift himself up, and he was too hurt to float at the moment. So he'd be stuck like this for a while.

So this was his life now? Hiding in alleys and getting hurt when he didn't hide well enough? Master had said things would be better when they got to Pellow Village. But then...

Then Master was gone. Pellow Village was not a better place to be. It was bright and glowy and pretty in some places, but as nice as it looked, it was not safe. Greedling hadn't liked Ravenloss because of its dank dark darkness, but right now he wanted to go back there. There were so many more places to hide there. It was so much safer there.

Here? Here he was alone. Helpless. Vulnerable. _Abandoned._

Greedling didn't like being any of those things. He especially didn't like being hurt. There was a way that he could be un-hurt, Greedling had seen Master do it before, but he didn't know how. It wasn't his business how Master could fix himself; he never needed to know. And not for the first time, Greedling wished he'd made it his business to know.

The best he could do now was go back to sleep.

* * *

Greedling had no idea how long he'd been sleeping. Time was not easy to tell in The Void, and even if there was a way, Greedling wouldn't know it. He was just amazed that nothing had tried to eat him in his sleep this time. That was happening with increasing frequency, and was turning out to be another reason he didn't like Pellow Village.

What's more, he wasn't hurting anymore now. There was a bit of a dull ache, but nothing he couldn't deal with. Could he float again? Greedling closed his eyes and _willed_ himself upwards as much as he could. After a few seconds he felt himself rise up slowly. He could float again. Could he move? He turned just the slightest bit on his side, and—yep, he'd started drifting to the left. Good.

Not there was much time to waste on enjoying his regained mobility. Pellow Village was still a dangerous place, and he _still_ wasn't one hundred percent better, even after he'd been snoozing for X hours. There had to be some place in this terrible...Place that he could finish healing in peace.

Greedling wracked his brain for any place that monsters might not go. Wait,_ did _he have a brain? He'd have to check later.

Where do the monsters not go? Anywhere light can be found. That left only the business part of Pellow Village to hide in. Light could only be found in the marketplace. Where do the Chaosweavers not go? That was more important. Where do the Chaosweavers not go?

Come to think of it, Greedling didn't think he'd ever seen a part of Pellow Village that the spider people didn't frequent. He sunk a little in realization. The Chaosweavers were the ones who went after him the most, and if they were everywhere in the Village, no part of it was safe for him. He'd probably be safer out in The Vo—Wait.

There was a park. There was a park in the village with a giant tree that no one ever went to. The tree was glowy, so it would keep the monsters away. The Chaosweavers didn't like the park, so he would be safe from them. The tree had a bazillion branches, and it was yellow, so even if someone went to it he could still hide. No one would find him. No one would hurt him. He'd be safe.

With that in mind, Greedling rushed as fast as he could to the park.

* * *

**NOTE: Greedling was just sleeping at the end of the last chapter. This is a three parter, so the conclusion will be posted whenever I feel like it.**

**Also, I finished the cover yesterday and uploaded it. I must say, I am damn proud of Aspar's shoes. You can view the original image in all it's glory at Imgur, just add hjqat . png after the slash.**


	23. 3: Light

The light was soothing. Nice. Pretty even, now that Greedling had gotten used to it. Greedling had had a hard time adjusting to the glow of the glowy-tree, but with the glow of the glowy-tree driving away anything that would hurt Greedling, Greedling enjoyed that hard time.

It was time doing something other than be hurt and sad and alone.

The number of branches on the yellow glowy-tree weren't quite a bazillion, but there was enough of them that Greedling could easily hide. As it turned out, Greedling's yellow and the glowy-tree's yellow were two very different yellows. The tree's yellow was bright and pretty, sort of like what Greedling imagined the sun would be like. Greedling's yellow was dull and muddy, and the more dense his body was the duller and darker and muddier the yellow became until it was black instead of yellow.

So the yellow alone of the tree wasn't enough to hide him. But the yellow _and_ the branches could hide Greedling very well. Super well. Incredibly amazingly well that no one would ever find Greedling everwaitsomethingiscoming—

* * *

Greedling cautiously floated away from the deepest branches of the glowy-tree and into the less dense branches of the mid-glowy-tree. The closer to the center of the tree Greedling got, the safer Greedling was, since the branches got so thick that Greedling doubted even Master would be ale to find him. Not that Master _would_ be able to find him, since...

There was something under the glowy-tree. There was some_one_ under the glowy-tree. Greedling tried to go back into the deep tree-center. Greedling _wanted_ to go back into the deep tree-center, but for some reason Greedling tilted down to the bottom of the branches. Greedling almost went further, but he landed on a branch before he could float out of the tree. Or, maybe not float. Greedling wondered if he would still be floating if he was floating floor-ward.

Still. Even in the deep tree-center, the bottom of the branches was not the place to be. The gaps in the branches didn't have many other branches to cover them. Greedling could be seen, would be seen, and then Greedling would have to find a new better place to hide. But there wasn't a better place to hide.

The thing under the tree was brown. And black. And red. And orange and yellow and _was not a Chaosweaver and Greedling knew who it was_.

Mage. The mage, the one with the Tomixes and the magic and so helpfulnice to Greedling and—

And looking up at Greedling.

And shouting at Greedling.

And grabbing Greedling from the mid-deep-glowy-tree-center before Greedling could get away.

Staring at Greedling and holding Greedling and not happy with Greedling. Not happy at all with Greedling.

But not hurting Greedling.

* * *

**NOTE: Chapter dedicated to tumblr user Chess-and-checkers, whose act of following me on tumblr after finding me through Centilingued was the catalyst for getting me off my ass and writing again. Thank you Chess-and-checkers, and may I someday read your name without thinking it says Cheese-and-crackers.**

**In other news, this three-parter has become a miniseries. Which means that the next few chapters will be solely about Greedling. Partially because I feel like certain things in Greedling's arc require there own chapter, and partially because I want to introduce Jed into the story already.**

**Thanks for waiting so long for the next chapter. I'm sorry it took six months.**

**BTW, I updated Chapter 6.**


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